The Tale of the Aliens
by Mira Kial
Summary: A memoir of sorts, penned by none other than Lord Cedric himself; the Prince's first officer, bodyguard, and best friend. He reveals his serpentine family origins, his dangerous and magical childhood, the dark days of his servitude towards Phobos, and his grueling, yet glorious, redemption in Kandrakarian prison. Includes a preface written by Queen Elyon I.


_**Preface**_

by Queen Elyon Lucia Escanor of Meridian

* * *

I unearthed this book from an ancient chest in the corner of Ye Olde Bookshop, Lord Cedric's temporary abode in the city of Heatherfield, Connecticut. It was stored next to his old, rusting dagger set with moonstones, a steel spyglass, and a ragged sash of the deepest crimson red I have ever seen.

Lord Cedric was somewhat of a mystery. Most of us knew him as a vile and clever military leader. Some of us considered him a lost soul who was blinded by power and anger. Still others knew him as an old-fashioned gentleman who operated a humble bookshop in America.

I knew him as all three, and yet more. This man brought me back to Meridian and cut short my childhood sojourn on planet Earth. He unveiled the curtain and woke me up. He, on my brother's orders, held me prisoner inside the castle and personally attended to me daily, in order to fill my head with lies. He indeed spent more time with me than my own brother, Prince Phobos. It was his duty to shut me up, hide the truth, and, ultimately, end me.

Yes, it was an ugly time. A very ugly time.

This is the precise thing that keeps the common citizen from wanting to learn about him: his work under the Prince's hand was dirty, evil work. And it is also why his work failed. I have come to realize, over the years, that the purpose of work determines the work's success. Worthy labor always succeeds in some form or another. This is divine law.

Unworthy labor may at times achieve a result, but it will never _succeed. _It will never create satisfaction. It will never generate rewards. And Cedric knew this quite well.

He tells his readers: "I stop, take a breath, and nearly weep like a child. Why am I here, torturing a young girl with lies and loss? Is this my purpose, what I was born for?"

Reader, my brother was past feeling. He chose to hand over his conscience when he created the Whisperers, evil spirits of our royal garden. But Lord Cedric was not past feeling. He knew that his actions were wrong, and he hated himself for them.

It was indeed power that had seduced him and blinded him; power that was not rightfully his. Lord Cedric, alongside my brother, murdered innocents, destroyed my kingdom, and terrorized its people, in the name of personal gain.

Now, let us not forget the final chapter of Cedric's life, however.

For twenty-five long years, he lay imprisoned in Kandrakar. He wrestled with himself and struggled under the chains he was tied under, both literally and spiritually. Cedric, as he repented, wrote and wrote and wrote. He recorded a good portion of the words you will soon read. He was outright done with being who he was. He wanted change. He was ready for it; he welcomed it.

When Cedric emerged from prison in June of 2011, he looked like a completely different human being (alongside being 25 years older than when I'd last looked at him!) There was starlight in his eyes, and a firmness in his composure unlike anything I have ever witnessed. The first thing he did, when I met him at the prison gates, was to drop to the ground and beg for my forgiveness.

I felt as if every cell in my body was being flushed by water and washed clean. I could hardly breathe, but I managed to say, "I forgive you."

Not many people were aware that he was still alive, let alone that he was a newly freed man, in more ways than one.

Know this, that he should have lived forever in prison. It was the Oracle himself who ordered his release into a state of probation. What profound, merciful thoughts were streaming through the Oracle's mind at the time, I will never know, but I am very grateful to him. The world needs to know that mercy is real, and it is alive, and it is powerful.

I was once very angry with Cedric, but any fleeting resentment has long ago been eclipsed by my joy at his redemption. I, too, spent twenty-five years pondering the dark days of my struggle to inherit the throne. I was a naive girl then, but I have since learned much of love, hatred, sorrow, and forgiveness. Cedric was my teacher.

It is my deepest sadness that my brother has not experienced the same change that his childhood friend and closest advisor has undergone. He is still alive, however. Perhaps the time will come that he chooses to awaken.

Reader, I hope you will feel what I have felt while reading these magnificent pages. Cedric had a deep heart, and a bright mind. He loved words; his choice as a bookseller for his cover identity was not by accident. He wrote with an audience in mind: the people of all planets and all races, young and old. Most specifically, however, he wrote for the people of Earth. For it is Earth who dreams of magic, but does not yet know how _real _magic is.

I welcome you, reader, to the words of Cedric - or rather, Kedrayk, as was his birth name.


End file.
